


A Good Day To Die

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-13
Updated: 2006-03-13
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Archer calls on Tucker and Reed to return to Enterprise to save the day. (09/29/2002)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: It seems terribly rude, but my first fic posting to this list is going to be a deathfic. Sorry, but all the other plotbunnies were driven away by a cold.  
  
I was assaulted by a plotbunny when ill, so the first draft of this was written with a fever, then edited when I was feeling a little better. Hope I've managed to turn it from incoherent ramblings into a proper story.  


* * *

Eight years. No, it must be more than that. More like ten. Ten years since he'd last spoken to his best friend. Although, he couldn't really call him a best friend now, after such a time. Ten years since the ultimatum, and ten years since he'd received the answer he'd never expected.

Starfleet protocol forbade same-sex relationships, but with the proviso that if the couple could be persuaded to part (and of course, unknown to them, placed under the strictest surveillance) they could remain. The alternative was dishonourable discharge and disgrace. No-one had ever chosen the dishonourable path, with two exceptions. He had honestly thought that it was a routine matter, that nothing could separate Trip from his warp engine or Malcolm from his phase cannons. He had been wrong.

Jon knew that he couldn't stay here forever. He had to get back into the truck and drive up there. Waiting was not going to make this any easier.

* * *

A battered truck was parked outside a small and squat cabin, which Jon took as a hopeful sign that someone was in. He knocked on the front door. No reply, so he tried the door. Locked. Jon smiled slightly. That did at least proved that he'd got the right place. Only Malcolm could be paranoid enough to lock a tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere. They probably hadn't gone far, so he was better off waiting.

He walked round the outside and couldn't resist looking in through the windows. The inside was cosy and domesticated, with a few odd touches. He was fairly sure that some of the things stuck on the wall were tech readouts, but he couldn't tell from out here what for, though he could make a fair guess. Jon completed his circuit and sat down on the porch steps to wait, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill. He caught sight of the woodpile, the axe neatly embedded in the block and felt in his pocket for the keys to the truck. The last time he had caught sight of either of them they had looked like they wanted to kill him, and he doubted the passage of time was going to make them any more pleased to see him.

"The answer's no."

Jon jumped round. Trip and Malcolm must have come back from the other direction. Malcolm had his arms folded across his chest, and was radiating hostility while Trip had his arm around Malcolm's waist in a proprietorial manner.

"What?"

Malcolm's stare was almost burning through him. "The only possible reason that you are here is that Starfleet wants one or both of us back. And the answer is no."

"Right question. They do need both of you back. But wrong answer."

"The answer ain't changin' Jon. Same now as it was then." The two men walked past him and opened the door.

Jon stood up. "But now isn't then. Things have changed. You really think that Starfleet would give the two people who generated it enough bad press to last it five years a second chance if it could help it?"

Trip turned at the door. "Yeah. Things have changed. But Starfleet ain't one o'them."

Jon stood in the doorway, uncertain as to whether to follow them in or not. "You know what's happening. I can't imagine that anyone doesn't. We need you back."

"Perhaps you could have thought of that ten years ago."

"Never thought I'd see you run from a fight, Malcolm."

"Are playground insults the best you can do?"

Trip motioned Jon inside. "Ain't havin' you causin' a draught, so you'd better come in." Jon was led into the living room-come- kitchen. "Siddown and we'll listen."

The other two sat on the sofa facing him.

"You are aware of the situation with the Klingon Empire?"

"Yeah. And I want to know who was dumb enough to get on the wrong side of guys who sharpen their teeth."

"It wasn't exactly within our control. It seems that it is in someone's interests to start a war between Earth and the Klingons. And, however hard we try, it looks like they're succeeding. We're out manned and out gunned. Hell, we're going to be sending out half built ships staffed with cadets, just to try and match them. We can't—I can't afford to be without two experienced officers right now."

"If you hadn't noticed, our experience is ten years out of date."

"And Starfleet has been very interested in the fact that Lieutenant Mayweather has been in constant communication with you. On matters which are supposed to be classified. If you've actually been reading the things he's sent you that you two probably know more about our current weapons and engines than half the Chief engineers and tactical officers in the fleet."

There was no comeback to this. Trip crossed to the fireplace and began to set the fire.

Jon decided to drop the subject for a minute. They were going to need some hefty persuasion, and keeping on about it was likely merely to antagonise them.

"Haven't seen a log fire in years. You don't get electricity up here?"

"Not until we got the hydroelectric generator up and runnin'. Got a lot nicer after that. But we'd kinda got used to the fire by then." The fire itself had caught and was beginning to crackle pleasantly. Trip stayed sat on the hearth rug.

Malcolm was staring into the fire, and didn't even glance at Jon when he said, "You're going to have to stay the night. You won't get to the end of the track before it gets dark, and you don't want to be driving that in the dark."

"Am I going to be offered a bed, or am I sleeping in my truck?"

"Depends."

"Think we might be persuaded to feed ya."

Malcolm smiled at Trip. "Might we now?"

"Since I'm the one cookin', yeah."

Malcolm poked Trip with his foot. "Well, get to cooking then."

Trip looked at Jon. "Hope ya don't mind Cajun, cos that's what you're gettin."

* * *

They managed to pass the meal talking about trivialities. Well, Jon talked, Trip occasionally joined in, and Malcolm barely said a word. Malcolm's hostility was less obvious, but Jon could still feel it; he had clearly been blamed personally for what had happened. Trip on the other hand was angry, but in a far more unfocused way. When Trip looked at him Jon didn't see anger, but betrayal. How the hell was he going to win them back?

They were sat round the fire again. Both Trip and Malcolm had kicked off their boots and were now curled round each other on the sofa. There was something so catlike about them Jon almost expected them to purr. They seemed tanned, healthy and...happy? No, not happy. Contented. And there was the edge Jon needed. He had seen both of them shine on `Enterprise', entirely in their element. This was an acceptance of defeat, not happiness.

"It's not just Starfleet that wants you back."

"Really."

"I need you. Back on the Enterprise." Jon sighed. At least here he could tell the truth. "My tactical officer, Lt. Davis..."

"Couldn't find his arse with both hands." Jon looked at Malcolm, who smiled. "He was a crew member on my first ship. God knows how he managed to make Lieutenant."

"So you would agree that you are a better tactical officer than he is?"

"Yes, but my six year old niece would be a better tactical officer than he is. Why don't you get her to join Starfleet?"

Jon decided to try Trip's reaction. "And we've gone through quite a few engineers. Including Commander Robson..."

"If that's tryin' to get a reaction you could do better. No, I wouldn't ever consider lettin' the man near my warp engine, but it ain't my warp engine any more is it?"

Jon gave in and stared into the fire. He seemed to have done more to convince himself that he needed them back that he had to convince them to come back.

* * *

Jon had been put in the spare room, after enough junk had been cleared to actually reach the bed. Trip and Malcolm's room was opposite. As soon as they were both through the door Trip grabbed Malcolm and kissed him, hard. He pushed him down onto the bed as his hands roamed across Malcolm's chest and down to the fastener of his jeans.

Malcolm whispered urgently,"Trip, stop, you know how thin the walls are in this house."

"Damn right I do." He began to stroke and suck Malcolm's neck, making him moan. Then he drew back to look him in the eyes. "You're mine. And there ain't no way I'm losin' you."

"I know..."

"I'm not tryin' to prove that to you. If you didn't know how I felt by now, there's somethin' wrong. This is for...other's people's benefit."

"So I'm expected to perform for an audience?" The tone was harsh, but there was a twinkle in Malcolm's eye.

"Uhuh."

"Suppose we'd better make it a spectacular performance then..."

* * *

Jon awoke early. The spare bed had obviously not been intended to be slept on, even though Trip and Malcolm had done a reasonable job of keeping him awake for half the night. He dressed and walked outside the cabin. It was certainly an idyllic spot, but a little too far from civilisation for his liking. Then again, the two of them had good reason to avoid contact with other people as much as possible. They had instantly become two of the most notorious people on the planet and had been the subject of personal denunciations from virtually every religious and political leader. It was a sign of how bad things had got that Starfleet was asking them to return.

"Jon? You want some breakfast?"

He turned and headed back to the house. Malcolm was flipping pancakes in the kitchen.

"Still putting peanut butter on them?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Ah just can't get the guy to eat normally."

Malcolm put the pancakes down on the table. "Just because I can conceive of food that does not contain chilli..."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Jon knew they must have come to some kind of decision.

Trip played with his pancakes. "Jon. We will come back." Jon looked up from his breakfast, surprised. "With provisos: We get our old ranks back. We serve on the same ship. We share the same quarters. That we can carry on being...us."

"I don't know what Starfleet will say."

"Tell them they either have back both of us, as a couple, or neither of us. And that if anyone makes this a problem, we'll leave again."

* * *

Six months later.

Trip awoke, vaguely disorientated. Then he relaxed as he remembered were he was. He could feel the pulse of Enterprise's warp core, and the deep breathing of his sleeping lover. Everything he had ever wanted.

Returning had been very odd. Starfleet didn't want to admit that they'd been brought back, so they had basically been smuggled aboard the ship. The first few weeks had been confusing—they both knew the technology that had been installed since they left inside out, but there was still that nagging feeling that everything be just as they had left it. Trip had to concede that Malcolm had had the harder task; there had obviously been more competent engineers than tactical officers, and he had pulled double shifts for the first two weeks to reinstall everything properly.

Then there had been the crew's reaction, since while the officers had remained the same, most of the lesser crew had been promoted and re-assigned. The two of them had been careful—behaving with the utmost professionalism when on duty, and no public displays of affection of any kind when off duty. Some of the crew were still a little hostile, though most of the male crew had calmed down after realising they were not about to be jumped in the jeffries tubes. Then, of course, there were the crew members who looked at them with envy.

Malcolm stirred slightly. Trip looked at the clock. Half an hour before it was due to go off. Which meant if he woke Malcolm up now...he would probably be made to regret it in many painful ways.

"Tri'? Y'wake?"

Although, if Malcolm was already awake...

* * *

Another explosion rocked the ship. The Klingon battle fleet had been sighted, on a direct attack course towards Earth; there was no time to prepare Earth's defences, so the Enterprise's job,as the nearest ship, was to delay them for as long as possible. One ship against more than twenty.

Hoshi lay dead across her console. T'pol had been taken to sickbay, but bulkheads around sickbay had collapsed. They were certainly inflicting damage, but sustaining far more. Another photon torpedo hit. Malcolm was thrown backwards as his console exploded, gaining a long burn across his arm. He picked himself up. Travis was lying with his head staved in and the Captain had part of the ceiling plating stuck through his chest, pinning him to his chair.

"M-Malcolm?" The Captain was barely breathing, barely conscious.

"Sir."

"Stop them."

"Yes, sir." The Captain nodded weakly, then gasped and went limp. Malcolm knew where he had to go.

Engineering was more of a mess than the bridge. The floor was slippery with blood and engine fluids. There were more crew standing here than on the bridge though: Malcolm knew Klingon tactics; they wanted the ship disabled and the bridge crew dead so that they could capture the ship.

Malcolm saw Trip, bloodied but standing, still trying to keep things functioning.

"What are you doin' here?"

"Bridge is gone. You're in command now." In any other circumstances Malcolm would have offered condolences, but there wasn't time. "I need to know if the warp core is still working."

"Sure is. We ain't runnin' though."

"I wasn't thinking of running."

Trip turned to look Malcolm in the eye. "You don't mean..."

"If we breach the warp core we could take out half of their fleet. They wouldn't be expecting it: they think we're going to surrender. That's why they're not hitting us as hard as they could do. We just need to do it fast enough so they won't realise and go to warp."

"It'll kill everyone."

"Half the crew are already dead. We could save hundreds more."

Trip turned back to the warp core. "I can blow this thing in under ten seconds, once I've got it set right. Fast enough?"

"It'll have to be."

Trip turned to his surviving crew. "Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to blow the ship up to save humanity. Any objections?" There was silence. "Then let's go to work."

As they worked the shooting stopped, a sign that the Klingons were preparing to board. It took only a couple of minutes to set the core to blow. Malcolm joined Trip by the core console.

"Regret comin' back to Starfleet?"

"Never. Don't think we'll be featuring in the history books though."

They both looked up as they heard the sound of something being clamped onto the hull. Trip paused, ready to flick the switch. "Those your famous last words then?"

Malcolm wrapped himself round Trip. "No. These are: I love you."

"Love you too."

As Trip pressed the switch he claimed Malcolm's lips in the kiss of a lifetime.


End file.
